Lost and Found
by Jennie
Summary: AU. Slight spoilers for Wizard Heir. Prequel to Need. A fluke accident brings father and son together.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Lost and Found (1/?)  
**Author:** Jennie  
**Characters:** Genevieve LeClerc, Leander Hastings, Seph McCauley  
**Fandom:** Heir Series by Cinda Williams Chima  
**Rating:** PG  
**Prompt:** LJ comm. **64damn_prompts** prompt 9 _connection_ and LJ comm. **Firstline_fic **prompt _the scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow_.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**AN:** A prequel to **Need**. No real stories except for Seph's history. Character death, but since it's in canon, not that surprising.

The scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow. He slams on his breaks and the car slides a few feet before stopping. It's lucky that the highway is devoid of traffic, he thinks for a split second, before throwing off his seat belt and jumping from the car.

The two vehicles ahead of him are not in good condition. The car has just set on fire and the 18-wheeler truck is on its side, half-way down the ditch, wheels still spinning. It's an absolute bloody _miracle_ that the car, albeit being on fire, is still in one piece. It ought to have been completely crushed by the collision, the way the truck hit it head on.

He stops at the car first, something telling him that it is important. He's had these _glimpses_ before, a stirring in his stone that warns him of impending danger, or conveys a great urgency to get something done before it's too late. The car is, except for the flames underneath the hood, in surprisingly good condition, and it's the first hint that magic might have played a role. The woman in the driver's seat seems to be moving in and out of consciousness, her eyes fluttering as her head rests against the wheel. She does not appear familiar in any way, her hair a golden color, her appearance puts her in her forties, her clothes suggest a decent income, but still practical enough to convey that she _works_ for her income.

It's the boy in the passenger seat that catches his eye, a gangly adolescent with dark curls, shaking the woman in horror. "Genevieve, Genevieve, come on! I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I didn't mean to have you crash, it was the power, I swear, it was an accident!"

Slipping into the role of command, the man knocks on the window. The boy freezes and then turns towards him, bright green eyes wide. "Are you all right?"

"I-" He coughs, "I'm fine. But my foster mother- she's really hurt. I think. I didn't mean to do it!" He exclaims again, flustered.

"Get out of the car," the man orders. "Leave your foster mother to me." He yanks the door, a charm whispered under his breath to allow the door to come free from the pulling. The door falls off and he uses the same spell to rip the seat belt off of the woman. She moves in his arms as he cradles her, striding a safe distance from the car and whispering another charm to clear the snow from the grass and heat up the area slightly, so that she will not freeze on the cold, snow-covered ground. The boy trots after him, clearly distraught.

"Stay here, I'm going to check on the other driver." But before he can fully stand, a huge explosion causes the rig to blow up, sending metal debris high into the sky. Without a thought of the possible Anaweir, he speaks a charm, throwing a shield up before the chunks of fire and metal rain down upon them. The boy stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth open.

"Are you- are you a _wizard_?" The man looks up to meet the boy's eyes, his expression taking a peculiar turn. So. The boy and his guardian _were_ Weir. That would explain the explosion, the state of the car, the erratic driving he witnessed just before the car was hit by the truck. An untrained wizard- he recognized the signs. Very interesting...

"Yes." The man answers curtly, turning back to the woman. "I am going to heal your guardian."

"No." The woman groans, bringing both of their attentions back to her. "You're not supposed to be here. Linda promised she wouldn't tell." The woman has a frightened look on her face, as she stares between the two of them. "She promised."

"_Linda_." The words nearly knock the breath out of him. Linda. What the hell did this woman have to do with _Linda_ of all people? Linda was either dead or in the Trade, wasn't she? He had stopped searching like a maniac for her years ago, but he had never truly stopped _searching_. He still ran through his contacts every few months, tried to reach her in their old methods, kept an eye out and an ear to the ground for word on the young, spirited enchanter who truly wanted to change the world.

He originally had been searching for some information on a certain recipe for a long-lost potion and had been told that there _might_ be a sorcerer in Canada, probably in the Toronto- or at least Ontario- area that might be able to help him. And so he had taken a flight out, going from the warm summer weather of Australia in December to the frigid Canadian winter, meeting with people and trying to track down this sorcerer.

Apparently the tip he had received after the Game in Australia had paid off.

He might not have found the sorcerer. But information on Linda- well, that was worth more to him.

Much more.

"What do you know about Linda?" He half-whispers, half-shouts, a breathy sound coming from his throat. "Is she alive?"

"I told her I'd protect him. I promised her. She told me you would never come, you would never know." She winces, and without thinking, he pulls off his parka and lays it over her, whispering another charm for warmth. She relaxes somewhat, and the boy takes the time to kneel down next to her, taking her hand.

"I'm so sorry, Genevieve," he murmurs, tears in his eyes. "I didn't mean to cause the accident, I just wanted to know about my family. I'm so sorry."

He watches the boy, confusion in his eyes. "You're a wizard?" He finally questions, laying a hand upon the woman's- Genevieve's- arm and channeling power into her.

"He's not to get involved! I promised her that!" She tries to sit up, and her own magic pushes against his healing touch. A sorcerer, then, with quite a gift of healing herself. Quite possibly the exact sorcerer he was supposed to track down...

"Involved in what?" He idly asks, using a charm to relax her- or at least attempting to. This woman did _not_ want to submit to him, and while he could force her, something held him back. He truly wanted to learn what he could from her, to figure out what she knew about Linda.

"The Resistance, the fighting, _everything_." She coughs, "I helped Linda deliver, I raised him, raised him free from all the Weir and the battles. He's just a boy, he doesn't need to be involved. I promised her, promised her I'd keep him away from the Roses, away from you." She pauses, and the boy uses the time to squeeze her hand harder, tears falling down his cheeks. He murmurs something Leander can't make out, and she raises an unsteady hand to brush away locks of hair that have fallen in his eyes. "She- she cried herself to sleep every night when she first came. Nightmares plagued her. The Roses, stealing him away. You walking into a trap, because they had him. She was so worried- about both of you. So she left him with me, away from it all. And I promised her I would keep him safe and not involve him in anything."

_I helped Linda _deliver. _I promised I'd keep him away from _you_. The Roses stealing him away. Walking into a trap._

The words resonate within him.

He'd never walk into a trap, he wants to protest. Not without being fully prepared. But something stills his outburst, as he thinks things through a bit more.

The facts: Linda left, without a trace. He woke up one morning to find her gone from bed, gone from his life. A note on the table said she went to get coffee. There was no trace of her from that point on. He figured the Roses or the Trade had gotten a hold of her- the Roses, because she had been interfering for the last year, the Trade because she was an enchanter.

But- what if- it couldn't be.

Well, it _could_, but it was so far-fetched that he barely paid it heed. Because, after all, a _baby_? Why would she leave? While it wouldn't have exactly been _practical_, he would have never turned away his child. She knew how much he missed his family, how it drove him. She _knew_ that he would instantly take responsibility for his child, that he would do anything to protect it- and her. They had been working together for over a year by the time she disappeared, had been sleeping together, in a relationship, for over half that time.

In retrospect, it was rather surprising that she didn't conceive until she did. They hadn't exactly been paying attention to protection, but caught up in the whirlwind of fighting the Trade, convening with others in the Resistance, and staying alive.

But then the words came back to him.

Linda was scared. That would- well, he could see that. Hell, _he_ was scared- is still scared, sometimes, when it comes down to it. They're fighting a nearly impossible battle, with very few wizards on their side. They had the help of the Underguilds, but they were frightened and prone to running. In the last twelve years, things really hadn't changed that much. He spent his time hunting down Warriors, saving them from the Trade, breaking in and stealing from the Roses, destroying things and generally being a nuisance. It wasn't- it wasn't exactly a life fit for childbearing.

Except that Linda had bore his child.

His son.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." The boy is still kneeling on the ground, nearly covering Genevieve's body. "Please, don't leave me. It was an accident."

"I'll never truly leave you," she whispers, and Leander realizes that she's _very_ close to death. Close enough, that he won't be able to heal her. Not when she keeps fighting him and his power. "I love you." She squeezes his hand tightly, brings it shakily to her lips and presses a light kiss to it. "It wasn't your fault, dear one. And I'm not leaving you completely alone. You asked, and he answered. _I'll always be with you."_ The last sentence was spoken in French, half a sigh, and as the final word passed her lips, her eyes closed and her life left her.

The boy collapses over her, sobbing in earnest. In the distance, Leander can hear police sirens and he realizes that someone must have seen the accident and called it in. In his haste- in his confusion over Linda and his apparent fatherhood- he had completely forgotten to make the call himself.

"We have to go," he finally says, taking down the shield charm, rising to his feet. He uses the time to watch the boy, frowning in thought. The boy- and he still didn't know his name- was probably somewhere around eleven and thirteen. Seeing it had been just about thirteen years since he had last seen Linda, if the boy were around twelve, it would work. He had no idea how far along Linda was when she ran initially, but she hadn't began showing yet, which meant she probably wasn't more than four or so months pregnant, which would...well. Four months in the beginning of December when she left would make the baby due in May... but she could have been less than four months pregnant. If he remembers correctly, women can't really find out until they were a month or two pregnant. So the baby could have been born anytime from May to early August, which would make his son about twelve and a half.

The age fit.

The looks fit, he realized. Under close scrutiny, the boy could very well have his cheek bones, his brow, his nose. Hell, he even had his _eyes_, the same startling green. Except- now the boy was looking up at him, his eyes still filled with tears, as they flashed to a golden brown color Leander remembered well, the same color that Linda's eyes took on when she was feeling intense emotion, be it running from Traders, fighting for their lives or when he was poised above her in bed, about to enter her.

And then it hits him suddenly, a wave of rage. _Linda hid his son from him._ She brought him to who knows where, left him with this strange woman, did not even have the decency to look in on him herself. He remembers the boy's words earlier- he had wanted information on his parents.

His parents.

One of which was standing across from him.

"Go where?" The boy shuffles his feet, sniffs. "What about Genevieve?"

"There's no time for questions." He wants to snap, but forces himself to soften his voice. "Your foster mother is dead. One truck is completely destroyed. It's best not to stick around. We need to talk, but we can't do that here, and the police won't let me see you again if they take you into their care."

"We can't _leave_ her here!" The boy protests, sniffing again. "She needs a proper burial."

"And we _can't_ stay." Leander hisses, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. "No matter what you intended, you used a large burst of power to cause an accident of that magnitude. It's unlikely, but we can't be sure that there aren't other wizards around, investigating. We have to leave quickly."

The boy looks up at him, glaring with an intense heat that Leander recognizes as his own glare, a glare he saves for the Roses and Traders who are foolish enough to get in his way. "No. I'm not leaving."

He's surprised the boy didn't stamp his foot.

This is the _last_ bloody thing he needs. "Do you _want_ to end up a ward of the state? Linda is, for all intents and purposes, _dead_. Your foster mother is dead. There is no one else except me who knows about you, and we need to discuss a key number of things. But," he pauses, seizing the fleeing thought, "if you come with me, I can tell you everything you want to know about your father, at least."

"You knew my father?" The boy stares at him sceptically. "My father was Jared McCauley and he was a software engineer in California and he and my mother died when I was a baby."

"I highly doubt you believe that story," Leander finally gives in and reaches down to pull Genevieve's body into his arms. "Otherwise you wouldn't have asked your foster mother about it to the point where you lost control and set the car on fire. We must leave _now_, but I will ensure that she gets a proper burial if you come with me."

The boy wastes a few seconds staring at him, before nodding curtly. "Fine."

Oddly enough, the car is still in okay condition. It will obviously not run anymore, but the fire seems to be confined to the engine, burning on a fuel source that doesn't seem to exist. Wizard's Fire- extremely dangerous, but also containable to a point, depending on intent and the will of the wizard.

"Grab anything out of the car you want to save." Leander orders, as he gently slides the woman's body back into the driver's seat.

"There's- there's nothing, really." The boy shuffles around to him. "What are you going to-"

"Stand back." And with a murmured word, the car explodes in front of them, Leander once more throwing up a shield to spare them from the debris.

"_No!_" The boy screams. "Why did you _do_ that?"

"Because she'll get her proper burial now," he replies, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The police will see the car and the truck, and surmise- correctly- that there was a collision and both vehicles exploded. There will be no trace of you. They will most likely assume that you were in the car with her. They will give her a funeral and you needn't worry about it any longer, because _she_ is gone, and you are not, and the living are more important than the dead."

"What-" The boy tries to visibly reign in sobs, "what now?"

"You'll come with me, and I will explain things," Leander replies, showing the boy towards his car, still parked on the road. It's a miracle, he reflects, that the police still haven't gotten there yet, until he sees the telltale shimmer of a barrier and realizes that either the boy or the woman must have subconsciously put it up. He watches the boy climb into the passenger seat of his car and buckle up, rubbing at his eyes, shivering in the cold. Leander climbs in quickly and turns on the heating as far as it can go.

"Where are we going?" The boy asks, as Leander pulls the car out and gets back onto the actual paved road, murmuring a charm to take down the barrier when he gets far enough away.

He spares a glance at the boy, his now blue eyes- the same shade as Linda's normally were- watches him in confusion. "Some place we can get something to eat," he finally replies. "Somewhere we can talk about your parents."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Lost and Found 2/?  
**Author:** Jennie  
**Characters:** Leander Hastings, Seph McCauley  
**Fandom:** Heir Series  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Prompt:** LJ community **firstline_fic** week 23 _A____, a______ and a____ walk into a bar_.  
**AN:** Spoilers of Seph's parentage, obviously. I've never been to Canada, so thank MapQuest, Google and the Ontario Parks website along with the Mattamy Homes as an approximation of where Leander and Seph started out (about ten or so minutes past Stouffville, Ontario). Oh hyperfocus, how you make me anal about miniscule details in my fiction... Enjoy.

* * *

"A preacher, a rabbi and a monk walk into a bar." They are greeted with the joke as they walk into the diner, a couple of older men laugh, seated at the booth next to the door. The rest of the joke is lost under the clamor of pots and pans, a cook calling a waitress to hurry and pick up a platter of food, and the noise of other patrons eating dinner.

This is not usually a place he would be dining at, but in his long life he has learned many times over that beggars cannot be choosers, and unless he wants to drive _another_ two hours, this is the best he's going to find. And, to be honest, he isn't sure he could last another two hours in the car with a sullen adolescent, who goes from staring at him accusingly to ignoring him to watching him expectantly, as if he's just going to blurt out the information and then dump him out of the car.

Not for the first time, Leander is reminded that his experience with children extends to training warriors and that's it. And something tells him that working with Joseph- he finally asked the boy his name once they were in the car- is not going to be the same.

Far from it, actually.

"We're going to eat here?" Joseph asks, adding five words to the possible ten he's said to Leander the entire drive. The others were "Joseph McCauley" in response to Leander asking his name, "twelve and a half," in response to Leander asking his age, "yes" to asking if he had lived his entire life with Genevieve LeClerc, "no" to if he had any idea who Linda was, "no" to if he needed to use the restroom and "no" to if he was too hot from the heating, after Leander had finally grown tired of his squirming in his seat.

"Yes," Leander keeps his answers short and surveys the crowded dining room before spotting an empty booth against a window in the corner and bee lining for it. Joseph trails after him, eyes taking in the surroundings. He slides in the booth, his back to the wall, and picks up a menu lying on the table. "Order what you wish."

Joseph slides into the other side and eyes him skeptically before taking up the menu and reading it. The moments pass in silence before a tired waitress, trying her best to be cheery, shows up, order pad in hand. "Welcome to Perry's. My name is Danielle and I'll be your server. Can I get you anything, gentlemen?" She smiles largely, displaying white teeth. "Are you up here for the retreat?"

"...the retreat?" Joseph questions. Leander would prefer it if she just left them alone, but if she's getting the boy to open up, then perhaps her presence is not a bad thing. He makes a conscious effort to reign in his Persuasion, knowing full well the effect of Persuasion on Anaweir- especially Anaweir women.

"Of course, the Scout retreat. There's a father-son Scout retreat up in Arrowhead- it's about twenty minutes away from here, so we've had people in and out all day. You're running a bit late, though." She gives them a dazzling smile, but it is lost on them both.

Joseph is staring at her in shock and, well- he's not as calm as he'd like to be.

This is _not_ how he planned this.

Not that he exactly planned anything in the first place...

"He's not my father," Joseph finally says, scowling at the waitress. "And I'm not a Scout."

"Oh, sorry!" The waitress flushes. "It's just- well, you _look_ so much alike." She taps her order pad with her pen. "So I figured, well, you know- I didn't mean anything by it-"

"I'll have the trout, with salad as my side. And coffee, please." Leander cuts in. He has a feeling he'll end up needing the coffee.

"Oh! Um...a hamburger, with French fries, please. And a Coke?" Joseph half questions, looking at Leander, who merely motions with his hand that it's fine.

"I'll be back in a sec with your drinks, then." The waitress takes their menus and hurries off, already being called by someone in the back to pick up an order.

"So..." Joseph trails off, staring at his place mat.

"So." Leander echoes, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. "Your name is Joseph and you are twelve and a half years old. That woman- Genevieve- she was your guardian?"

"My foster mother," the boy keeps staring at the table. "She- she said my mother was a Toronto based flight attendant and my father was a software entrepreneur from California. And when I was about a year old, there was a fire in our house in the California Canyon and they died. Genevieve was my nanny and so she got custody of me, I guess."

"But you do not believe this." It is a statement rather than a question, and it causes Joseph to look up at him surprised.

"No, I don't." He says firmly. "I did some researching at school and in the library. There are no records of my parents, nothing in the newspapers about the fire. The only document that exists is my birth certificate."

"So you asked Genevieve."

"I asked her a lot," he looks back down at the table, pulls his napkin from underneath his silverware and puts it in his lap. "Even before I did the research- I just _knew_ there was something wrong. It didn't _feel_ right. But she wouldn't tell me and I'm really convincing on most people, but I didn't like to- I don't know, _force_ it out of her."

"It's called Persuasion," Leander offers, and then stops as the waitress drops off their drinks and leaves again. He picks up his coffee, but does not drink, while Joseph dives into his Coke with gusto. "It's a wizard power- I assume she told you about the Guilds?"

"Not much," he admits, almost shamefully. "There are five guilds- Enchanters, Wizards, Warriors, Sorcerers and Soothsayers. We're born with a crystal in our chest, and our crystal determines what we are. I'm a wizard, she's a sorcerer. Wizards need training- but she always refused to find someone to teach me. The other guilds don't. She- I helped her shop for ingredients sometimes. And helped her stir things once in awhile. Potions for healing and stuff. But she didn't like to, er, advertise it, I guess. And she never liked me to use my powers."

"Wizards have a bad reputation," Leander sips his coffee. Not good, but it isn't horrible either. "And, for the most part, it is deserved. There are two Houses- the Red Rose and the White Rose. There was a war centuries ago- the War of the Roses?" He notices Joseph nod, "ah, so you've heard of it. Before the War of the Roses, there were many battles between wizards. This continued on for centuries until the War of the Roses was fought and a document called the _Rules of Engagement_ was adopted. It is a nasty document that basically gives power- political power- to the wizards and regulates the other guilds as servants- which is why they are called the servant or under guilds. Since the fifteenth century, the other guilds have been sought after, kidnapped and tortured. They are forced into service to wizards. It does not surprise me in the least that your foster mother was wary of your powers- the Anawizard Wier have developed a deep distrust and dislike of the wizard guild."

"Genevieve said she was once in service to a wizard in France, and she had scars on her wrists she never talked about." Joseph keeps his head down, his voice quiet.

"Shackles, no doubt." Leander puts down the coffee, folds his hands on the table. "Throughout the centuries, wizards have committed travesties against the other guilds. There is a black market for the under guilds. It is called the Trade." He pauses, wondering how to bring up Linda. It is silly- he fought the Trade for over a century before he and Linda met, and he continued to fight after Linda's disappearance- and yet, the Trade and Linda are interconnected in his mind. He cannot think of the Trade without remembering her.

Or wondering where she might be.

"I've never heard of it," Joseph mumbles into his drink.

"I am not surprised. It is a nasty thing. There are traders- wizards- who read genealogies, tracing family lines, following leads, hunting the under guilds down and selling them to other wizards. I assume that Genevieve was once in the Trade and that somehow she escaped or was rescued."

"Rescued?" Joseph looks up and his eyes are a purplish blue, matching his mother's.

"There is a...group of individuals from the five guilds that work to stop the Trade and free those ensnared within it." He hesitates, unsure of how much detail to go into. "I can only deduce that that is how Genevieve and Linda met."

"Who- who _is_ Linda?" Joseph asks falteringly. "Genevieve never mentioned her before today."

Leander takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the questions that are about to come. "I believe that Linda is your mother."

Silence. Or, that is, between the two of them. The clamor of the restaurant suddenly takes the foreground- a trucker chatting with a waitress behind the counter, a family of tourists exclaiming over the scenery- which is, Leander has to admit- quite nice, a pair of what look to be locals discussing the amount of snow and what it might mean if it continues to fall heavily. _Strange_, he thinks, before glancing outside and realizing that not only has it started to snow, but that it is now snowing heavily.

"My mother," Joseph whispers. "This- this Linda person is my mother. What- what happened to her? Where is she? How do you know?"

"I don't know what happened to her or where she might be. I _don't_ know for certain that she even _is_ your mother, but," Leander shrugs his shoulders imperceptibly, "from what Genevieve said and what I know of her, it makes sense."

"So you know her, then." Joseph narrows his eyes and his eyes flash back to forest green. "How do you know her? Is there any way I can contact her? Why did she give me up?" The questions fly out of his mouth at rapid speed.

"I have been looking for her for a number of years, Joseph, and I do not know where  
she is. Believe me, if I knew where she is to be found, I would go there immediately with you." He is the one to look down now, break the eye contact. If he found Linda, he isn't exactly sure what he would do- he wavers between shaking her, screaming at her- and kissing her senseless, refusing to let her leave him again. And with Joseph in tow...

He can't imagine the scene.

"As for why she gave you up...I can only guess. Linda was young- very young- and she was fighting the Trade, living under assumed names, moving from place to place, working a network of spies. It was not an easy life for anyone- much less an expectant mother. She must have learned she was pregnant with you and ran. I-" He cuts off, unsure of how much to reveal at this point. How do you tell a _twelve_ year-old that not only are you his father, but you did not know he existed up until two hours ago?

"So you knew her, then?" Joseph asks for him, but before he can answer, their meals arrive.

"Here you go! Is there anything else I can get you?" Danielle smiles widely, waiting. They both take time to survey their plates before shaking their heads.

"No, thank you," Leander answers for Joseph as well.

"Well, you enjoy your meals. Just wave me over if you do end up needing something." She leaves, and Leander is once again faced with the complicated question. He dodges it for another moment, taking a bite of his trout, while keeping an eye on Joseph nibbling at his hamburger.

Finally the boy looks up at him, and he knows he can no longer ignore him.

"I know her," he replies quietly, placing his napkin on his lap. "Or I knew her, I suppose. I thought she was dead or that the Trade had gotten her. I haven't seen her in thirteen years now, though I looked and looked for her when she first disappeared- and still have kept an eye and an ear out for her on the various networks."

"So- you were in this resistance too?" Joseph takes a sip of Coke, eyes not wavering from him.

"I was- still am. But it is not something that bears any weight on this conversation." The Trade is _not_ something that Joseph needs to know about in any detail, nor of his exact involvement- not now. He may only have known the boy for a few hours, but there is something inside of him, a stirring, that fully claims him as his own- as his son- and for the first time in his life he finds himself being, well, _parental_.

"Okay, well, then did you know my father?" His heart nearly stops. The question was going to have to come eventually, he knows this. But it catches him off-guard. He thought he would have to lead into it, and yet Joseph is ahead of him, wanting to know the one question he can answer with (near) certainty.

The one question he is least prepared to answer.

"I- yes," he breathes out, closing his eyes for a second. "Yes, I know your father."

"Who is he? Where is he? Why didn't he get me?" The questions are spit out in fury, leaving Leander no time to answer or think.

"I- Linda didn't tell him. He never knew. Believe me, it was just as a surprise for him as it is for you." He pauses, knowing that he can't go any further unless he is willing to outright lie- or tell the complete truth.

"To be honest, Joseph, until there's a blood test or we get a hold of your Weirbook, there is no _proof_ of your parentage. _But_," he raises a hand, stopping the child from interrupting, "after today, based on your appearance, your power, what I know of Linda and her disappearance...I believe that _I_ am your father."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Lost and Found 3/?

**Author: **Jennie

**Fandom: **Heir Series

**Characters: **Leander Hastings, Seph McCauley

**Summary: **A fluke accident brings father and son together.

**Rating: **PG

**Disclaimer: **The characters are not mine. I am merely borrowing them and do not intend to make a profit.

**Prompt**: LJ community **firstline_fic** week 32: "You're kidding...Right?"

**AN: ** I know it's been ages since I updated this. Sorry about that, but I got a bit hung up researching various aspects (most of which don't even come up in this chapter…). Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, as always.

* * *

"You're kidding...Right?"

This isn't exactly the reaction Leander is hoping for – or expecting. Though he supposes it is better than Joseph throwing his drink or food at him, stomping off from the table, screaming at him or some unintentional release of power.

Actually, in retrospect, this is quite tame. It's not like he expected the boy to throw himself into his arms or something- not that he would know what to do if the boy actually _did_ do that.

"No, I am not kidding." Green eyes meet green eyes, a silent battle of will. Leander finally gives in, setting down his fork and folding his hands. "Linda and I met fourteen years ago. She was sixteen and new to her powers- and had gotten trapped in the Trade. I rescued her and we began to work together against the Trade. She was quite good at it – exceptional, really. We were a good team and eventually we ended up in a relationship. And then, one day, I woke to find her gone. I searched everywhere for her, Joseph, but could not find a trace of her. After a year I came to the conclusion that she must have been captured by the Trade or the Roses and while I never stopped searching for her – I stopped searching with such urgency."

"So you gave up." His voice is not accusing, but matter-of-fact – yet it still cuts like a knife.

"I never gave up, Joseph," his voice is strained, full of over a decade of hurt. "To this day, I continued to search when I could. But there was no trace of her to be found – until Genevieve mentioned her today. And after that, well," Leander forces himself to take a bite of his salad, "the pieces fell into place, you could say. Linda was seventeen when you were conceived, and – I don't know your exact birth date, but somewhere around eighteen when you were born: very young in both the Weir and the Anaweir worlds, especially since we were not wed. And our life at the time – we were always on the move, always running, never sure of the future. I believe once she learned she was expecting you she decided to run, to keep you out of the life we were living. And she never told me." He fights to keep the last part as neutral as possible- though the fact that she _hid his son_ incenses him.

She had no right to do so, he wants to say. I would have been there from the beginning; I would have never left her- or you- he wants to convince Joseph. I _loved_ her, he wants to shout.

But he doesn't.

"So – so basically this Linda person got knocked up – by you – and didn't feel like telling anyone and just took off?" The words are harsh, but the tone is harsher. "So my mother never wanted me."

"She wanted you," Leander tries to stick up for her, though the words are like sandpaper in his mouth, as if he's trying to convince himself as much as he is Joseph. "She just..."

"You don't know what she wanted, because you haven't seen or heard from her in thirteen years, you said. She left you – just like she left me. My own mother didn't care enough to stick around for me." The words are bitter, and he shoves a few fries into his mouth, chomping down angrily. "I – I always wanted to know who my parents were. I used to beg Genevieve to tell me stories about them. And when I got older and realized that the story wasn't right, I dreamed about meeting my real parents. I didn't know if they were alive or dead, I just wanted to know about them. Who were they, what they did, why I was with Genevieve. And then, finally, in the car – I lost control. I tried forcing it out of Genevieve and instead the car caught on fire and we hit the truck and we go off the road and now Genevieve is gone and I learn that not only was she a liar, but so was my mother."

"We don't know what happened to Linda, Joseph. For all I know, she _could_ be dead. Maybe she did die when you were an infant. All I know is that while Genevieve lay _dying_, she was still worried about you." Leander tries his best to soothe, but he finds himself completely out of his element. "I may not have known her, but it was apparent that she loved you."

"But she betrayed me," Joseph mutters, but it lacks the ferocity of his previous statements.

Twelve year-olds – who understands them?

"Maybe," he allows. "Genevieve had your best interests at heart, it seems to me. And Linda – well, she probably did what she thought was best for you."

"You're not mad at her?" The boy stares at him with incredulous blue eyes – eyes that cause his heart to skip a beat, they remind him of Linda so much. "She – you said she never told you. That you didn't know about me. Shouldn't you be mad at her?"

_Yes._

Except…he can't bring up the emotion, can't completely blame her for this, even though he wants to.

She should have told him. It takes two people to conceive a child and he had as much of a right as she did to decide whether to keep him or not. He _never_ would have allowed her to take away their son, to give him up, to hide him away. And that she took that decision – that _right_ – away from him, infuriates him to his very core. And yet...now, as a rational adult, having an entire car ride to think it over, he is capable of seeing her reasons why. He may not approve of them, and he certainly would have done things differently. But – she was essentially a _child_, and they were on the run. Nothing was certain in their existence – they didn't even know if they'd make it to the next day. Oh, they pretended that they were immortal, that it didn't matter, that the stunts they pulled would _of course_ work. They had a mission – and failure was not an option.

Nowhere in that mission did a baby fit in.

Maybe – maybe it _was_ for the best, in a twisted way. Joseph is alive, healthy, twelve years-old. He seems happy – or at least seems to think of Genevieve with fondness. He didn't have a childhood on the run, wasn't thrown into a war from the beginning of his existence – a war he had no chance of understanding, at such a young age.

He might not _like_ it, and he would never have made that decision himself. But now that it has been done, a part of him acknowledges the (few) advantages of Joseph's upbringing.

This isn't exactly something you can explain to a twelve year-old, he realizes. Joseph's eyes are full of fire, his stance crouched and tense, as if ready for a fight. He's hurt and confused and just lost his foster mother – and has to deal with the idea of an absent mother and a brand new father. The fact that Joseph _isn't_ a horrible, inconsolable mess at the moment only proves how strong-willed he truly is.

He definitely takes after his parents.

"Possibly. Probably." Leander massages his temples, his eyes fixated on the table. "To be honest, Joseph, I don't know what to think. Before today, I had no idea you existed. I don't know where Linda is, and yes, there is a part of me that is mad at her for – for not telling me," he finally decides upon, picking up his cup. The coffee is lukewarm in his hands, but he sips it anyways. The liquid wets his throat and buys him some time. "But Linda isn't here. She's not part of the picture right now. What matters at the moment is _you_. Your legal guardian is dead and while I may be your father – at the moment I have no legal right to you. There are going to be certain tasks we must face before moving on, Joseph. If – if you're willing."

"...Willing to do what?" The boy absent-mindedly moves a ketchup-soaked fry around his plate, though his eyes are on Leander. Somehow he's managed to eat most of his food without Leander realizing it. A quick glance down at his own plate shows that he too has eaten more than he first believed.

Leander takes a deep breath. "To come with me. To live with me. I'm your only living relative as far as I know, and, well, I'd _like_ you to." Is he doing this right? Should he be ordering him instead? Should he make the boy ask? Should he ignore the subject and let the police try to figure it out? Surely Genevieve must have made plans to provide for Joseph should she die. Wizards were known to have long lives, but the other Weir weren't. Not because they weren't necessarily capable – but because the Anawizard Weir were scarcely given a _chance_ to grow old. And while Genevieve might have been free from the Trade at the moment – there was never complete certainty that she would be free for good. She must have had _some_ back-up plan in place. A will, perhaps.

A guardian set aside.

The thought chills him, and he is forced to put his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling. It's a stupid fear – Joseph is his son and a blood test will show that. After that, he's well within his rights to take custody. Or at least he thinks he is -- he has an excellent understanding of the law (and ways to get around it without notice), but he's never had to deal with _family_ law of all things. Or the fact that they're currently sitting in Canada, and while he's traveled all over the world; his knowledge of law is limited to the United States and Britain.

"You're asking me to live with you?" He can't read the child's voice. It's rather high-pitched, but it's more a sign of Joseph's age than any emotional infliction. The boy seems to be quite skilled in keeping his emotions out of his demeanor.

Rather like his father, Leander must admit.

"I am." His voice is just as cool as his son's.

"What – what would that mean? I mean, where do you live? Would we stay here or would I go with you? What about school? What about –" Leander interrupts the barrage of questions.

"I currently live in London, though I am needed in New York. I do not believe staying in Toronto would be a good idea for you. I propose that we return to Toronto and I will attempt to find out what the details of the accident are. It surely has been discovered by now, and there's a chance that they assume you were in the car as well. We have two options: we can reveal that you did survive or we can let the police continue to think you are dead." Leander runs a hand through his hair, wondering how much detail he should go into. He himself isn't entirely sure on how to proceed, and while it feels sort of…_strange_ to be asking his twelve year- old son his opinion, he is not sure of what else to do.

After all, this decision affects Joseph just as much as it affects him – possibly more so.

"What happens if we just let them think that I – that I died," Joseph falters slightly and Leander does not blame the boy. Thinking about your own death is never easy, especially at such a young age. Unfortunately, it seems to be a curse that he has passed onto his son, albeit quite unwillingly.

"Well…" Leander trails off and calls the waitress over, deciding he needs something else to drink. He _wants_ to ask for something with a bit more… kick to it, but the child sitting across from him makes him hesitate. After all, he should be setting a good example, right? And that includes not drinking in front of a minor (he ignores the part in his mind that reminds him that _he_ was the one who encouraged Linda to drink for the first time at the tender age of sixteen – but that was different, because they were in England, where the drinking age _was_ sixteen) or driving after drinking.

"What can I do for you?" The waitress is just as cheery as ever. "Ready for your check? Or perhaps some desert?"

"I'd like another coffee, if you have it. And…" he looks at Seph expectantly. "Order whatever you'd like."

"Um, hot chocolate. And pie?" Seph looks weary and unsure of himself.

"Of course we have pie. Would blueberry be fine?" The waitress takes down their orders quickly once Seph nods his head and ambles off.

Alone once again, father and son turn to face each other. "If we disappear, so to speak, and do not notify the police that you are very much alive, then the case will be closed quickly. We will be free to leave – I can easily get you false identification papers so that we can leave the country, if they even insist on checking – and there will be no problems claiming you as my son. On the other hand," he rubs his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion, "it means that you will have to give up everything. Genevieve most likely had a will and possibly has named a guardian for you. I _think_ – no," he corrects, "I _know_ that unless Linda herself shows up, I will be able to trump any claims for your custody, being your biological father. However," he sighs, "I'm not sure what…measures," he chose the word carefully, "Linda set up in the case of Genevieve's death – or at all. To find out anything, such as your status, your inheritance, whether Linda left any money for you, if you wish to keep any of your possessions or any of Genevieve's – you're going to have to go back. And if you want to say good-bye," he added softly.

"I – I would like to say good-bye," for the first time since the scene of the accident, Joseph allows his tears to fall. Leander isn't sure what to do – does he ignore it? Does he acknowledge it? Is he supposed to pat him on the back? Is he supposed to _hug_ him?

He finally settles for reaching across the table and putting his hand over his son's, allowing a trickle of power to transfer over, an effort to soothe him. "I understand," is all he says.

Joseph nods and sniffs once, before wiping his eyes with his hand. Silently, Leander pulls out a handkerchief and hands it over. "What will happen, when we go back?" He asks, just as their orders arrive. The waitress removes their other places and gives them a smile before hurrying off; somehow sensing the sensitive nature of their conversation.

"I don't know." Leander picks up his coffee, but does not sip. "I will contact a lawyer, immediately. We also need to get a blood test done as soon as possible. I do not think that it will be necessary for you to spend any time in care."

"Wait – in _care_?" Joseph exclaims, his fork halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean, 'in care'?"

"I mean," Leander sighs, "that right now, there is no _proof_ that you are my son. And I have no idea what Genevieve's last will and testament might say – if she even has one. There is the possibility that the police will call whatever the Canadian version of Social Services is and try to get you placed into their care. However, I am hoping that I can fight it."

"What – how?" Joseph looks appalled. "I don't want to go into care!"

"You're not going to go into care," Leander tries to console him. "I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure that it does not happen. I am merely making you aware of the possibility…which was probably not the best decision on my part. Forgive me, I am…unused to this." This is a complete understatement – he is completely out of his element and has no idea what to do. All he has is a burning desire to make sure his son is all right.

Joseph seems to accept his answer and nods, his eyes downcast. He carefully sips his hot chocolate and the father and son pair lapse into silence. Leander watches him from behind his coffee cup. The boy eats his pie carefully, scooping up crumbs with his fork and taking sips of hot chocolate between each bite. It's…amazing to have his son seated before him, watching him eat his desert. He can't exactly explain it – it's as if he has now discovered an entire new world, a new…purpose. Not that he wants to think of his son as a project, but _having_ a son is just so new and strange and…wonderful.

Wonderful is really the only word for it.

Finally Joseph looks up at him and meets his eyes. His son seems oddly out of sorts, as if he wants to ask something, but can't bring himself to. "Go ahead and ask me whatever you want, Joseph." He says softly, setting down the cup and leaning back against the booth. "It's your right."

"I…well…" He is clearly flustered, with spots of red tinting his cheeks. "I don't know what to call you. I mean…you never even told me your _name_."

Leander blinks and leans forwards again. "I didn't?" He says surprised. Joseph nods. How could he have forgotten to _introduce_ himself? "Well…" He draws out, "I can't believe I forgot that. Well, my name is Leander – Leander Hastings – and you can call me Leander or Lee or – or –" His voice falters. "Father or Dad or whatever you want to call me," he finally says, barely audible. "And," his voice grows louder again, "do you prefer Joseph or is there a nickname you'd prefer?"

"Um…" Joseph clears his throat. "Seph is what I usually go by. But Joseph's fine too…" Again they fall into silence. "What now?" Joseph asks, after he finishes his pie. "I mean…you said we have to go back to Toronto, right?"

"Actually," Leander drains his coffee, "I'm not sure. The accident took place outside of Toronto, so I'm not exactly sure who would have jurisdiction. I haven't been in Canada too many times and my visits were usually fairly short, so I can't say I'm too familiar with the area."

"Oh, Toronto is great," Seph answered enthusiastically. "I live on Glencrest Boulevard, Genevieve has a Ben and Breakfast and –" Immediately the enthusiasm leaves him once he realizes what he has just said. "I – er, she _had_ a Bed and Breakfast and…it was really fun…" He trails off, his head bowed.

"You can show me tomorrow," Leander tries to cheer him up. "I'd love to see where you grew up. She…she might be dead, but she will never truly leave you. The memories you have of her will always keep her with you." He isn't quite sure if he believes his own words, but they were what people told him when _his_ family died and it only feels right to pass them on to his own son.

"Maybe," Joseph says, but he doesn't meet Leander's eyes.

Leander takes a deep breath, and then decides to go for it. "I was ten when I lost my entire family."

Joseph stills, though he still doesn't look up.

"I mentioned the Trade before? My father was a wizard and my mother was Anaweir – non- gifted. I was the only child that inherited the wizard stone, but I had an older brother who inherited the enchanter stone –"

"Like Linda," Seph quietly interrupted.

"Yes," Leander let a small smile cross his lips, "like Linda. My other brother was Anaweir like our mother, but my sister, Carrie, inherited the warrior stone. I was only two when Jamie – my enchanter brother – was taken by the Trade. Enchanters and warriors are the most sought out of the Anawizard Weir and after losing Jamie, my parents wanted to make sure we wouldn't lose Carrie too. We moved around a lot, but we never strayed away from our farm in Ohio for too long. My father was a farmer at heart – he loved the farm and in the end, it was his undoing." He paused when Danielle, the waitress, came to take away their used dishes. As soon as she left, he continued.

"I was ten years old and we had just returned from another trip away. Usually disappearing for a month was enough – the Traders never stayed for long. But this time… it wasn't enough. I guess it was luck that I had snuck off right after breakfast to fish and just sit by the river. It was already noon when I started on my way back and I was worried about my mother being mad at me for being late to the midday meal. I saw the smoke, but assumed my father was merely burning brush. It wasn't until I reached the house that I realized what had happened."

"What happened?" Seph was pale, his eyes a deep, comforting blue.

"The Roses had come. They had killed my father and Anaweir brother, and my mother was left in such a state that she died soon after. But I didn't see my sister, I didn't see Carrie around anywhere. She was the valuable one – the one they wanted to take. There is a…history between the Red and White Rose and warriors, but I won't speak of it now. I was foolish – I didn't think. I lead them right to her. It was the Red Rose – I remember watching them load her onto a horse, terrified for her, feeling completely ashamed and helpless because I could not do anything to help her. And then – there was an explosion and she was gone. The White Rose, realizing that they had come too late to claim her for their own, decided to destroy her instead, so the Red Rose could not have her." His voice is bitter, with over a century worth of hurt.

"So you see, Seph, I am no stranger when it comes to death and losing loved ones. You – my son – are the only family I have left. I would never have willingly given you up, and Linda knew that. I can only assume that is why she ran and did not deem to tell me. And I _swear_ that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and by my side – so long as you wish it." Finally Seph meets his eyes, the color morphing to match his own.

"I do." He says quietly, yet forcefully. "All I've ever wanted was a father."

"I'm glad," Leander smiles assuring back at him. "I guess…" He surveys the rest of the diner. It has emptied out and there are only a few scattered people there, finishing up their meals. The sky is dark even though it is still early in the evening – but then again, it does get darker earlier in Canada. "I think we should start heading back now."

Danielle comes over to pick up their mugs and Seph's plate and catches the tail end of the conversation. "Oh," she says cheerfully, "where are you folks headed?"

"Toronto," Leander answers, while Seph shrugs on his jacket.

Danielle instantly turns solemn. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. There's a blizzard on its way and the last thing you want to do is get stuck in it."

"A _blizzard_?" He repeats incredulously.

"Everyone is trying to head home. We don't get many out-of-towners," she explains, balancing their dishes on her tray. "And there's no way you'll make it to Toronto. I wouldn't even suggest driving at all."

"Well…" Leander looks dumbfounded. Seph has caught on to the conversation and is looking increasingly worried. "What can you suggest to us?" If he were alone, he'd risk driving. He's dealt with blizzards often enough, and wizardry can work wonders in terms of shelter and warmth. But he has a son now – and everything has changed. He has someone who needs him – he can't just go running out and risk endangering his son's life.

"There's a hotel, a bit up the road." She points in the direction with her free hand. "About five kilometers. Off of Pontiac Drive. You can't miss it. It's a small place, family run, and they should have room for you. "

"Thank you." He pulls out his wallet and hands her enough to completely cover the bill and give her a hefty tip. "Keep the change."

She glances down at the money in her hand and looks back up, flustered. "Well – thank you so much, sir. Have a safe trip and I hope it clears out tomorrow so you can get back to Toronto."

Sharing a look, father and son stride out the door together, Leander unlocking the doors before they reach the car, and holding open Seph's for him. Once they're both in the car, he turns on the heat and adds a charm for warmth, pulling out of the lot. The snowfall, which had been practically non-existent when they had arrived, is now extremely heavy and Leander agrees with Danielle – this is not snow he should be driving in.

"Is…is everything okay?" Seph asks timidly.

"It's fine," he answers shortly, and then, worried that he might have unintentionally hurt Seph, softens his tone. "But we're definitely going to have to stay the night in the hotel that waitress recommended. There's no way I can drive to Toronto in this."

"Oh." Seph leans back against his seat. "Um…what am I supposed to do about clothes, then?"

"I'll show you a charm to clean them. It's easy magic." Leander backs out of the parking lot slowly, turning onto the road. "But now, I really need to concentrate on driving."

"All right." Seph turns to stare out the window. "But we'll be fine, right?"

"Of course," Leander reaches over, taking a hand off of the steering wheel and shortly placing it on his shoulder. "We'll be fine – I won't let anything happen to you."


End file.
